


“Dreams Shall Never Die”

by Polgarawolf



Series: Dreams [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Addiction, Advice, Angelic Grace, Angelic Machinations, Angelic Visitation Via Dreams, Angels, Angels Are Dicks (Except Castiel), Angels are Dicks, Apocalypse, Archangels, Armageddon, Binding Rituals, Blood Drinking, Blood Magic, Choices, Confusion, Demon Blood, Demon Blood Addiction, Demonic Machinations, Demons, Devotion, Dreams, Dysfunctional Family, Emotional Manipulation, F/M, Families of Choice, Family, Family Drama, Family Secrets, Family Work, Fear, Free Will, Friendship, Grace - Freeform, Grace Sharing, Grief/Mourning, Hell, Hunters, Hunting, Lies, Loss, Love, Magic, Magical Artifacts, Manipulations, Masks, Meat Suits for Angels/Demons, Memory, Morning Star, Nephilim, Other, Pain, Panic Attack, Power Dynamics, Power Imbalance, Powerlessness, Prophecy, Prophet(s), Protection/Wards/Aid for Sleeping, Protective Castiel, Protective Sam Winchester, Protectiveness, Quest, Questions, Recovery, Relationship Advice, Resurrection, Revelations, Rituals, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Secrets, Self-Exile, Separations, Sleep, Sleep Deprivation, Summoning Circles, Sword of Michael, Team Free Will, Unconventional Families, Vessels, Wards, Worry, adoration, trickery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-05
Updated: 2009-10-05
Packaged: 2017-11-14 07:11:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polgarawolf/pseuds/Polgarawolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> Sam Winchester’s dreams have been invaded by Lucifer – wearing the guise of his dead girlfriend, Jessica, no less – and so he’s a little freaked out by the whole concept of sleeping and dreaming, at the moment; fortunately, that doesn’t stop a certain resurrected angel of the Lord from visiting him in his dreams – even resorting to putting him to sleep, in order to facilitate such visits – to ask for input and advice on dealing with Dean Winchester . . . </p><p><b>Warning:</b> Apparently, I am writing an on-going series of linked stories, (mostly) in response to the individual episodes of season five. This particular story is meant to function both as a kind of sequel to the previous three stories I’ve written for <i>Supernatural</i>, “What Dreams May Come,” “Unless First We Dream,” and “Dreams Are Free,” and as a sort of continuation of and between-the-scenes addition to season five’s fourth episode, “The End.” Given how this seems to be working out so far, while some specifics of this story will likely be Jossed as soon as next Thursday and the fifth episode (“Fallen Idol”) roll around, the series itself will adapt and continue with a response to that episode . . .</p>
            </blockquote>





	“Dreams Shall Never Die”

**Author's Note:**

> **Author’s Notes: 1).** As with the other three stories in this series, I have no idea where this story came from. Most of it came to me in between watching the fourth episode and turning in for bed that night, though I didn’t get to write most of it until the following Saturday because I was still working on getting some notes down for a different story in this series (dealing with Castiel’s attempt to apologize to Dean for various threats to send him back to Hell). Aside from Castiel visiting Sam in his dreams, it’s canon-compliant up through the fourth episode of season five (and could be considered at least semi-spoilerish for the show up through that episode) and I suppose could be read as gen, though frankly the vibe that I get from Castiel when I’m writing in this particular ’verse feels anything _but_ gen and Sam’s pretty damned sure that an angel of the Lord is not only in love with but adores and reveres his brother and that his brother’s in the first stages of learning how to have enough faith to return the sentiment. 
> 
> **2).** In the episode “The Monster at the End of the Book,” Sam and Dean both responded to the notion that fans of Chuck’s books about them ship them romantically (despite being aware that they’re brothers) rather negatively, in the actual show. And (much like Dean, who’s declaration of TMI regarding Sam’s confession about his sex life with Ruby was extremely vehement) Sam’s consistently behaved on the show as though he’s pretty much wholly uninterested in (and at least somewhat disturbed and/or grossed out by any specific knowledge of) the details of his brother’s sex life. Thus, I believe that Sam’s mental musings on the topic of Dean and Castiel as a possible romantic couple are in character, and I hope that no one will be offended by that! I’m not trying to insult anyone here, folks! I’m just trying to keep things as close to canon as I can, including the personality quirks and opinions of the characters!
> 
>  **3).** Erhm, despite Sam’s ginormous tendency towards stupidly destructive levels of self-centeredness (which is, as mentioned previously in other notes for stories, the reason I’ve always primarily been a Dean girl and not a Sam girl), I do not believe that he is actually a bad (much less an evil) person – just a little bit spoiled and selfish and occasionally phenomenally stupid. He’s _human_ , in other words, folks. And, given how much he cares about his brother – how hugely protective of his brother he can (when not being a selfish dick or addled by power and demon blood and desire for revenge at all costs) be (which only makes sense, given that Dean’s pretty much all he has) – it only makes sense that Sam would have a vested interest in keeping his brother happy, as well as healthy, sane, and safe (at least as much as possible). So I think it’s safe to say that not only would Sam react ferociously, pitilessly, and relentlessly, if he ever suspected someone capable of hurting his brother to be planning to cause Dean harm of any kind (be it physical, mental, or emotional), he would also do his level best to take time out from his own problems (even one as huge as apparently being Lucifer’s chosen vessel) to help anyone he suspected of being capable of making Dean happy and/or of making Dean’s life easier. Even (or perhaps _especially_ ) if the individual in question were actually an angel capable of dragging a soul up out of Hell and putting it back into a miraculously healed and living body . . . 
> 
> **4).** As I’ve said before, _Supernatural_ is a supremely odd show in that the main characters never seem to have (or keep) any romantic attachments or possible romantic attachments that aren’t either broken by death or else what some would consider blasphemous/unnatural in some way. With the (fairly) recent appearance of Castiel on the show . . . well, let’s just say that the dynamic of the show began to shift radically, from the moment he and Dean met. Many fans have responded to this by pairing Dean with Castiel (I’ve seen Dastiel and Destiel both used as portmanteau couple names for the ship); however, until recently (and to be honest, I’m still not entirely sure about this), I’ve avoided embracing this ship, mainly due to the fact that it’s (mostly) seemed to be painfully one-sided (on top of which, frankly, it disturbs the ever living crap out of me to even approach the notion of a God who would _deliberately_ send an angel to a human, all the while knowing that the essential nature of the two beings involved could only result in pain, Dean too scarred by his life/afterlife/second life to even be able to recognize love and faith when it is offered to him and Castiel having no choice – as a creature whose sole purpose is essentially to experience love and to glorify the divine and faithfully praise God by worshiping all of His creation – _but_ to love). 
> 
> (To be continued in the next notes section!)

**"Dreams Shall Never Die"**

  
  
  
Sam Winchester is pretty freakin’ sure he’s not dreaming.

Well. Pretty sure. Mostly sure. As sure as he can be, all things considered.

When he’d woken from the dream where Lucifer revealed himself, he’d hurriedly packed his things, called Bobby to find out where Dean was the last time they spoke and whether or not Bobby knew if he might’ve moved on since then, and made one quick pit stop at an all hours combo gas station and quickie mart before leaving town. Without any fake credit cards to fall back on (and really, what’d he been thinking, burning those along with the IDs? That being able to afford to travel would drive him back to hunting?), he’d had to swipe the bottles of overpriced caffeine pills and energy pills, while stocking up on munchies for the road. As soon as he made it back to the old clunker he’d boosted three states back (switching tags half a dozen times between there and the town he’d so briefly settled in, for safety’s sake), he’d taken entirely too many of both kinds of pills, chased with a Red Bull he’d actually paid for, to make absolutely sure he’d keep his focus and not be tempted to stop for a nap anytime soon.

He’s been alternating between swilling coffee and chugging soda ever since (even though it’s slowed him down, some, having to stop constantly for refills and to either find a public toilet or a place isolated enough he can pull off the side of the road and piss in the ditch), and, even though he finally had to give in and pulled off the road to find a motel for the night (just to rest, not to sleep!) when his eyes started refusing to focus properly and he found himself drifting off the side of the road for the third time in a row, he still hasn’t really stopped moving. He’s been pacing restless circles around his room ever since he got out of the shower, too antsy and jittery even to sit still long enough to turn on the TV.

He’s terrified of sleeping. He can feel his heart racing in his chest, rabbit quick and erratic, and he can’t tell for sure if it’s residual adrenaline and fear still hanging on from the dream (from what Lucifer said to him about how he’ll inevitably give in) or from the energy supplements and caffeine he’s been ingesting to stave off the need for slumber. Castiel’s supposed to be contacting him sometime this evening about how things went with Raphael – he promised to come as soon as he could, but the summoning is supposed to’ve happened at sunrise and Cas has been keeping in touch with him by way of Sam’s dreams, so it’s not like he can just drop in whenever he wants to (though if all else failed, Cas is clever enough he could probably get Sam’s number and give him a call, if he absolutely had to) – but Sam’s far too spooked to even think about trying to sleep, even for Castiel’s sake, though he desperately wishes he knew what was going on with Cas and his brother.

Cas and his brother. There’s a whole other nest full of nasties, just waiting to spring out on unsuspecting passers-by. God knows he can’t exactly blame either one of them (and it’s not like Dean even has an inkling yet just what it means, for him to be claiming Cas as _his_ angel. His brother may not be stupid by any stretch of the imagination, but Dean’s the most stubborn person he knows, and he has denial down to a fine art. Unless God makes an appearance as a burning bush and declares Dean forgiven and beloved of Heaven and blesses a union between him and Castiel, Dean isn’t likely to get with the program any time soon. In fact, even if God were to do that, Dean’s first reaction might be to throw water – or beer, or . . . other things, possibly far less hygienic – on the burning shrub), but the thought alone is enough to give anyone a migraine, and Sam’s not exactly firing on all cylinders at the moment, so he tries not to think about it too much, for fear of giving himself an aneurism.

He’s suspected for a while that Castiel’s interest in Dean isn’t exactly . . . normal for an angel (even one charged with busting someone’s soul out of Hell, putting that soul back in his body, regenerating that body and giving it new life, and then acting as that resurrected person’s guide and guardian on the path to ending Armageddon), so it’s not like being given confirmation of that’s been too terribly shocking. (Though his gradual cottoning to the sheer depth of Castiel’s feelings for and loyalty to Dean sure as hell have been nothing but one series of shocks piled one upon the other.) It’s just, well . . . it’s just so phenomenally beyond insane to even contemplate the idea of his brother being in love (of Dean being able to trust someone – anyone! – enough to open up enough to really let that person in), much less being in love with a freakin’ _angel of the Lord_ (and Sam doesn’t give a shit _what_ Castiel says about Nephilim and consent and love being the greatest act of worship of God’s creation, it can’t _possibly_ be as easy as all that), that he’s not sure if he’s ever going to completely adjust to the idea.

It’s not because Castiel’s in a male body, although, okay, yeah, honestly? That _is_ kinda weird. (Especially given the fact that Castiel’s vessel – the body that temporarily housed him, prior to his murder, which was apparently entirely physically recreated for him, when he was resurrected – seemed to be quite happily married, before becoming host to Castiel. Sam wonders sometimes if Jimmy suffered much, before the end. He’s pretty sure Jimmy didn’t come back from what the archangels did, at Chuck’s house. But he’s afraid to ask, in case the man’s somehow still in there, somewhere. It just – it makes Sam’s head throb painfully, to even think about the possibility. He feels bad for Jimmy and his family, to be sure, but Jimmy still being there in that body is just one more complication that they really don’t need right now.) After all, Dean’s pretty damn firmly heterosexual, about ninety-seven percent of the time.

Sam knows his brother’s done some experimenting – Dean’s bragging rights have never known any bounds, and, back when they were both still in school, Dean getting jerked off or sucked off by the school’s most popular, handsomest, or prettiest-mouthed jock was almost as good a cause for bragging as banging a cheerleader, if only because it usually made Sam squirm and blush and stammer even more than the (sometimes entirely too painfully literal) blow by blow commentary on the cheerleaders would – but he also knows that the experimenting didn’t seem to carry over past school and that it was never all that serious, anyway. (Dean didn’t turn anyone down based on gender, but he never deliberately sought men out. In school, they always sought him out. He just didn’t say no to them. In retrospect, Sam thinks he really should’ve noticed then how starved for affection Dean is and how shaky a sense of self-worth he has.) And he knows just how much Dean appreciates beauty and the female form. It’s probably a good thing that Castiel’s human form is handsome and that angels don’t really have gender, outside of their vessels, or else there’d very likely be some serious issues involved in getting Dean to ever accept Castiel’s love for him . . . or, well, more serious issues than there already are, anyway.

He really wishes he could believe that it might be as easy as Dean noticing that Castiel is . . . well, that he’s handsome and hopelessly devoted to and in love with and believes in Dean, not to mention that he desires for Dean to return at least some part of the overall sentiment Cas feels for him. The thing is, though (well, on top of the fact that he’s never known of anything in their life to be that easy, _ever_ ), even though he wants it to happen (and God, but the world really is a bizarre place when he’s seriously rooting for a freakin’ rebellious angel of the Lord to win the heart of his brother), he can’t quite visualize how it would ever even happen. It’s not that he physically _can’t_ imagine Dean and Cas together (not that he _wants_ to imagine the two of them together, because, okay, ew! That seems entirely too much like something those weirdo fans of Chuck’s books who didn’t seem to care that Sam and Dean were brothers because they were so determined to think about them and even write them as lovers would spend a lot of time doing, thinking up outlandish erotic fantasies featuring Dean and Castiel to pass the time between their forays into brotherly incest). It’s just . . . well, it’s just that every time he tries to think about it, he keeps getting hung up on the memory of how exceedingly careful the two always seem to be to avoid touching each other, except when absolutely necessary.

Castiel looms (somehow, despite his relatively average stature). Castiel stands far too close for human comfort. Castiel doesn’t seem to understand the concept of personal space or to comprehend the fact that it generally makes people nervous, edgy, and irritable if someone else is standing close enough to share the same breath of air. Yet, Castiel rarely, if ever, willingly touches anyone, even Dean. Especially Dean, maybe. That’s one of the first things he’d noticed, actually, when he first met Castiel. The angel would stare and he would stand far too close, but he would not reach out to touch or willingly permit Dean or Sam or any other (even Anna, even when she obviously wished to try to reach out to him) to come close enough for physical contact. The few times Sam has witnessed any kind of contact – any touch not related in some way to immediate danger and a need to intervene, to rescue – between Castiel and Dean, it’s been through fabric, layers of trench coat and suit jacket and button-down shirt or of heavy leather or denim jacket and soft cotton or flannel or both guarding against skin meeting skin.

He’s always thought that’s weird, because Dean’s all hands and feet and careless touches (and Sam’s got the marks to prove it, from all those kicks under a million and one different diner tables and friendly headlocks in a billion and one different motel rooms and parking lots, Dean making contact and reassuring himself, thus, of Sam’s continued presence in his life) and he’ll get right up in other people’s faces and start shoving at shoulders when he’s pissed and a lot of the time around Dean Castiel would be constantly almost wringing his hands, like he desperately wanted to circle his fingers around Dean’s wrists and press stillness and calm into him by sheer dint of force and concentrated will (an instinct Sam more than understands, having lived with Dean’s particular brand of explosive temper and immovable stubbornness for basically all of his life, minus those years at Standford and those terrible four months when Dean was in Hell).

Sam’s seen Dean touch Castiel before – usually to show him how to do something or to correct him or guide him towards more seemingly normal human behavior – but there’s almost always been a sense of deliberation and hesitation in the actions, as though Dean’s consciously trying to avoid making any real contact with the being responsible for pulling him out of Hell and resurrecting him in a body made strong and new and whole again by the angel’s power. And Castiel has, for whatever reasons, apparently taken his cue in this matter from Dean, constantly standing close to him (too close, really. Far too close for anyone – except for Dean, apparently. Of course. Naturally. Because God forbid that _anything_ in their lives should ever be easy! – to mistake Castiel’s desire for closeness for anything other than a soul-deep need to express his love for and devotion to Dean in some recognizable fashion) but refraining from touching.

This apparent reluctance on both Dean’s and Castiel’s part to touch one another doesn’t exactly bode well for any kind of strengthening or deepening of the relationship between them. (It’s especially troublesome considering the fact that Sam suspects Dean is more than a little touch-starved, not to mention starved for affection. His brother is a very tactile person – always has been. In fact, Sam suspects that Dean spends so much time chasing after women out of sheer skin hunger and lack of understanding as to any other way to try to fill that need – and their life hasn’t exactly been conducive to kindness, gentleness, or even simple human skin to skin contact not involving blows or other forms of injury. The forty subjective years Dean spent trapped in Hell probably would’ve been torturous even without the actual torture. It can only have made things worse . . . probably a lot worse, if Dean’s obvious desire to avoid touching Castiel – like his very touch might do harm to the angel – is anything to go by. Castiel seriously has his work cut out for him, and sometimes Sam wonders if it might not be more than even a miracle could accomplish, to fix all of this.) In fact, it makes Sam wonder (again. Still. More than before) if Castiel really understands just what’s involved in the human concept of love, of freely choosing to give one’s heart and to love another being with the whole of one’s heart and soul.

Castiel believes. Castiel has faith. Castiel trusts. Castiel reverences. Castiel adores. But Sam’s not sure Castiel really _gets_ the all too fickle and complicated human concept of love. Dean’s started to choose Castiel back. He’s beginning to learn how to rely on and trust in the angel. One of these days, he may even discover that he’s accidentally developed some faith in Castiel, not just as an angel and an ally but as an individual who’s willingly chosen to stand with Dean. It’s even possible that his loyalty might eventually transmute itself to love. But even if that were to happen, Sam’s not entirely sure that Castiel (for all his unwavering faith in and unstinting adoration of Dean) would know how to respond to that love in a way that Dean would understand to mean that the angel is in love with him.

He really wants to believe that this could work out. But just because he _wants_ to believe something, that doesn’t mean that Sam can convince himself it would be feasible. Truth to tell, he’s not really sure if it’s stupidly naive (it’s _Dean_. When has he _ever_ trusted anyone enough to offer up his heart on a platter?) or just realistic (it’s _Castiel_. A freakin’ _angel of the Lord_ who went to his death for love of and loyalty to Dean and was apparently rewarded for his faith with a new life and remade human body to act as his vessel on Earth, so he could continue at Dean’s side) to hope that (if they all live long enough) the still mostly one-side relationship will one day grow into something worthy of being labeled a full-blown love affair. Honestly, most of the time Sam feels like someone stumbling around in the dark in a room he’s never been in before with a poorly balanced tray filled with cups of unstable nitroglycerin, when he tries to get a handle on how Dean might react to actively being romantically wooed by his angel. That’s just another of the many reasons why he usually tries very hard not to think about it too much.

Of course, there’s not a whole lot else to think about now. (Except Azazel and Lilith and Ruby. Except the Apocalypse. Except _Lucifer_ , for God’s sake, and he is not, _not_ , **_not_** going to think about what could possibly make him give in to the Morning Star and Father of Lies.) He can fret about the likelihood of Dean putting himself between Castiel and Raphael (or at least standing so close to him that the archangel wouldn’t dare to strike out, for fear of hitting the one supposedly destined to be the Sword of Michael and cut Lucifer down in the final battle); he can worry about state of the world, as it spirals seemingly ever downward towards an end he fears will be far worse than anything foretold of in any holy scripture or prophetic writing; he can agonize over Bobby and the other hunters, who are even far more overmatched in this battle than the Winchester brothers; or he can drive himself a little bit more crazy wondering whether or not it’s feasible to hope Castiel’s belief (his _adoration_ ) and Dean’s capacity for caring (usually more about others than himself) might one day collide in such a way as to permit a meeting of more than just minds between the two.

(Sometimes he catches himself wondering if he shouldn’t just bash his head in against the nearest solid surface and be done with it. Then he has to face the fact that he can’t tell if the thought is serious or not, and has to clamp down with all his might on the urge to start laughing until he howls and never stops. He is . . . entirely too fragile, some days. It’s why he removed himself from the hunt, even though he knew Dean might never forgive him. He’s of no use to anyone if he gives in to that traitorous urge to curl up in a corner and wail and howl and **_scream_** until he can’t remember a time when the sound of his own voice deafening him wasn’t the norm. And he’ll _never_ be able to forgive himself if Dean were to get hurt because he was busy having a weak moment. He’s done more than enough damage already, without adding that to the list.)

Given all the crap on his mind and the things he’s done and everything he’s seen and been through, sometimes (like right about now) Sam sincerely wonders why he’s not an absolute raving lunatic yet. He’s pretty sure anyone with a less weird childhood would’ve broken under the strain of all of this by now, and, given what absolute dicks most angels have proven to be so far, in the back of his mind, he can’t help but wonder, sometimes, if maybe Zachariah and his lot didn’t _deliberately_ arrange for Azazel to notice his mother’s family and start this whole damned blood feud that set his father and Dean and himself on the path of hunting and destroying all of the evil creatures of the world, just to prepare him and Dean for this, to make them capable of dealing with this without breaking all the way under the strain.

He knows that Castiel was ordered to take Dean back in time, to act as a witness to the beginning of Azazel’s interest in his family, and that Castiel sincerely believes it was just so that Dean would understand the full range and gravity of events, not so that he would alter or effect the outcome of events in any way. But he also knows that Dean’s presence in the past seems to have acted as a catalyst of sorts, guiding events in such a way as to bring their mother’s family into contact with Azazel when he might never have even noticed them, otherwise (at least not then, not just yet. Maybe not never, is the niggling thought he can’t quite manage to keep from recurring). He can’t help but wonder if the angels _needed_ Dean to go back, to cause those events to happen, as a part of their plan to bring on the Apocalypse, so they could arrange to have their war with Hell. If that’s the case . . . well, Sam’s already pretty much thoroughly disappointed in, disillusioned with, resentful of, and righteously furious with Zachariah and his cronies. If he finds out this is the case, he’s going to have no choice but to declare open war on them.

And isn’t _that_ a lovely thought. A dual all-out war with the Hosts of Heaven and the forces of Hell and no real choice but to figure out a way to burn both of them down to the ground, if they want to survive (much less win this thing). He wonders if Castiel’s thought of _that_ yet, or if he’s still hoping that somewhere along the line his brothers will wise up and stop fighting them and let them join sides, so they can stand united against Hell. He’s been so busy running that he’s not really sure if even _Dean’s_ gotten quite that far in his chain of thought, yet (though he suspects Dean may have realized it, when he learned what the archangel did to Cas. The look on his brother’s face . . . Sam would’ve been afraid, even if he’d been an archangel. Hell, Sam would’ve been afraid even if he’d been the Devil himself!). But if they’re going to need to stop thinking (hoping) that they can deal with Heaven by simply hiding and waiting for the angels to wise up and start acting like real angels (like _Cas_ ), then they’re going to need to start learning ways to kill angels, or at least to banish them from their vessels and throw them back into Heaven, like Alastair tried to do that one time with Castiel.

And won’t _that_ just be a lovely conversation to have! "Hey, Cas, you know that really bright silvery thing you carry around that you used to kill two of your brothers when you saved me and Dean from Zachariah giving us cancer and torturing us so he could make Dean gave in to Michael? Well, Dean and I need some of those, so we can start killing angels too. Oh, and it’d be nice if you could teach us that spell to send angels back to Heaven, just in case there are any you think might be worth saving, to try to win over to our side. And hey, have you seen Anna lately? Being rebellious and all, she’d probably be a good recruiting idea, to help guard our backs, just in case anything bad ever happens to you and we need some angelic mojo to save our asses."

The urge to violently knock his head against the nearest solid surface (repeatedly, until he can’t remember what it is that got him so upset anymore) starts to surface from the back of his mind, where he’s banished it, and he’s paused in his pacing to scowl darkly, blankly, at the floor, so he doesn’t immediately notice that he has a visitor.

"Sam. You look troubled. Should I come back at another time?"

Holy freakin’ mother of – !

" _Cas!_ Don’t – don’t sneak up on a guy like that! Human hearts can fail, under enough stress or shock, you know?" Sam jumped so far that he didn’t stop moving until his shoulders hit the nearest wall, and he’s not entirely sure he’d still be vertical if it weren’t for the wall at his back. His heart’s beating so violently that it kind of hurts, and he’s massaging at it absently (and, okay, maybe all those pills plus even more caffeine wasn’t the brightest idea he’s had lately) when he remembers that Castiel only visits him like this in his sleep, and that he most emphatically does _not_ want to be asleep right now. "Wait – _wait_! When did I fall asleep? Are you – ?"

Castiel blinks at him, apparently startled and confused by the violence of Sam’s reaction to and apparent panic over his appearance. "I promised that I would tell you how the summoning went. And you need your sleep, little brother. I encouraged your body to shake off the effects of the caffeine you’ve ingested and to ease into slumber, when you paused in your pacing to sit on the edge of your bed. I had to push harder than normal. You may not recall sitting down."

"Don’t leave me asleep, unless you can put me too far under for anyone or anything else to get to me!"

Castiel blinks again, the tilt of his head eloquently proclaiming his confoundment and surprise. "Is there something wrong, Sam?"

"Is there something – ? Yeah, you could say that." Sam’s laugh is so ragged he finds himself pressing a hand to his mouth, as if to hold the noise in, in case it should finish disintegrated into tears.

Castiel takes two steps closer, peering up at him with a concerned frown. "Do you wish to tell me? Is there anything I can do to help?"

Sam scrubs the hand that’s been pressing his lips painfully back onto his teeth across his face, shoulders bowing so he doesn’t have to meet that worried blue gaze. His voice is smaller and shakier than he’d like, but at least it doesn’t break or crack as he asks, "Can you keep your brothers from sneaking into my dreams? Permanently?"

Castiel steps even closer, face turned up at an almost painful looking angle to let him seek out Sam’s gaze, close enough that Sam’s eyes almost want to cross from the effort of meeting his eyes. "Sam. Has Zachariah or one of the archangels been troubling you?"

"No. Your other brother, though . . . he’s a different story." That ragged laugh escapes him again, sounding even closer to a sob this time, and he turns his head away, pressing the heels of his hands across his eyes, so he won’t have to look at those suddenly furiously protective eyes or think about how much he wishes Castiel could protect him from this.

Castiel’s shock is almost a tangible thing, and the silence stretches uncomfortably long before he finally breathes, "My _other_ brother . . . Lucifer has visited you?"

Sam determinedly doesn’t look at the angel. "Is it true?"

Painfully, awkwardly, Castiel tries to reassure him rather than answer him directly. "Sam. An angel cannot take a vessel without consent – "

"Is. It. _True_?"

His voice achingly gentle, Castiel quietly tells him, "The convergence of your family lines and the taint of the demon blood . . . it makes your body particularly suited to hold one such as he. It does not mean that you must let him in, Sam. Lucifer cannot take you against your will, any more than Michael can take Dean unless he first agrees. He is still too much of an angel for that to be a possibility. If you will not consent to become his vessel, then it will never happen."

Sam has to gulp after a breath, and it sounds entirely too much like a sob, in the quiet of the room. "He seems awfully sure it will happen."

Firmly, Castiel replies, "Zachariah believes that he can force Dean to consent to being Michael’s vessel. It does not mean it will happen."

"I – I’m not as strong as my brother, Cas. I’m _not_ – I – I _don’t_ – "

Castiel shocks him by reaching out and placing a hand – firm but gentle and surprisingly warm, the skin hot enough that he can feel not just the slow crawl of power that always seems to be leaking out of the angel’s human body but heat from the touch, burning through him all the way down to the bone – on his right shoulder, gripping him tight enough that he knows the gesture is meant to be an offer not just of comfort but of grounding, anchoring, like Sam could center himself around the weight and heat of Castiel’s hand on him. "You are a righteous man, Samuel Winchester. You desire only to do good. You have made mistakes, yes, but humans, being fallible, tend to do so. This does not mean that you are weak. You are _strong_ , Sam. If you refuse Lucifer, he will have no choice but to turn away from you. He _cannot_ force you, in this."

He can feel the prickling in his eyes that usually presages tears, and so he blinks, rapidly, fiercely trying to stave them off. "It’s just – I – Cas, are you sure – ?"

Castiel’s hand tightens a fraction. "I am _positive_. The rules still apply. He does not cease to be an angel, in this, just because he was cast out of Heaven. He cannot possess you against your will, as a demon might be able to, were you unprotected. I _promise_ you that he cannot."

"I – alright. Alright. Okay. But what if – if he – Cas, I didn’t know it was him, until he changed form and _told me_ who he was. If he comes to me wearing – wearing _you_ – " Sam flounders, gesturing helplessly towards Castiel’s human body.

"There are ways to ward against the invasion of dreams. The simplest would involve symbols of power – protective sigils, similar to a devil’s trap or an anti-possession rune – to bind you safely within your body as you sleep and to lock others out of your mind. I can teach you this, Sam. It would not be difficult," Cas quickly responds, clearly still hoping to reassure him.

The response though, sends a wave a panic roaring through him. "But where would that leave you? If I’m warded against visitors – "

"I would teach you a ward modified to permit me entrance, if you wish to permit me continued access to and egress from your dreams. I will have to show you an invocation of my true name – "

Sam gapes at him, understanding immediately why that would be a _very bad_ idea. "What? _No!_ If I know how to invoke you – "

Castiel’s eyes almost look human for a moment, they are so full of kindness and understanding. "Sam. It is nothing that Lucifer does not already know. I do not believe you would attempt to bind me against my will. I trust you."

"You _shouldn’t_! I turned on Dean so I could kill Lilith and it started the Apocalypse! I let Lucifer out of Hell! I – "

"You are Dean’s brother. He loves you. And you have claimed me as your own brother. I trust you will not use the knowledge against me in any fashion. And it is that I know of to safely guard your dreams against Lucifer without also binding me from them or causing you harm. I suggest you purchase henna to paint the symbols on your chest. The dye is permanent enough that it will not come off during the night but not so permanent that it will be difficult to remove, should the need for the ward pass or should you need to alter the ward to permit others access to and egress from your dreams. For tonight, when we are through talking, I will send you into a warded slumber, as I have before. You will be safe there," Castiel promises.

"You can’t write it down. I don’t care how much you think you trust me. If I were to lose it or if a demon were to get hold of it – "

"Sam. If Lucifer truly wished for my presence, he could summon me as easily as I could summon him. It is . . . something of an unspoken rule, to refrain from such summonings," Castiel explains, frowning a little, small but noticeable hesitations between some of his words, as if he’s unsure if he’s chosen quite the right ones to say.

Sam just stares at him incredulously. "You expect the Father of Lies to leave you alone because angels have an unspoken agreement not to use their knowledge of each others’ true names to summon or bind each other? Are you freakin’ _insane_? What makes you think the Devil will play nice and stick to your rules? Hell, why aren’t you – "

Castiel shakes his head, cutting him off. "It is . . . an agreement that was made in Heaven, before Lucifer’s fall. It is still binding to him. He was still fully one of us, when he agreed. It would . . . damage him far too greatly to break that agreement. Unless he is truly desperate, he will not risk it. Breaking our word . . . it is damaging to our Grace. It diminishes us, weakens our power. It is why I had to use Raphael’s former vessel, to summon and entrap him, when I wished to speak to him of our Father. You needn’t worry about this. I would not offer this as a solution if I did not believe it were safe."

Sam just shakes his head stubbornly, flatly insists, "I still don’t want you to write it down. And I’m asleep. What if I get it wrong, once I’m awake again, because I’ve forgotten or misremembered something?"

Castiel doesn’t quite sigh, but the breath he exhales is slightly (noticeably) louder than normal. "I can place the knowledge directly in your mind, if it will make you feel better. You will remember it as if you learned it at the same time you learned how to draw devil’s traps and have been using the knowledge ever since."

"I – " Sam wants to protest, he really does, but he doesn’t know what else to say, and so his shoulders slump in defeat as he gives in, voice whispering, "alright. I suppose. But only because I don’t know what else to do, besides stop sleeping altogether."

"That is not an option. You need to rest, Sam. You should not ingest so much caffeine that it interferes with your ability to sleep." The angel’s voice is almost _chiding_ , and Sam finds himself blinking at him, startled at how strongly it affects him to know that Castiel cares about him enough to fuss.

"I – I didn’t want to sleep. I was afraid Lucifer would come back for another visit," he admits, eyes firmly fastened to the floor so he won’t have to look into those concerned blue eyes. "I may have overdone the caffeine a little. I’ll be more careful, next time. Promise."

"I will hold you to that promise, little brother."

The hand tightens on his shoulder again, just a little, before Castiel lets go. Sam looks up, the gravity in the angel’s voice startling him. Panicking a little, desperate to change the subject, he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, asking (voice a little too high and too falsely cheery), "So how’d things go with Raphael? Good, I guess, since you’re here?"

"Dean stood with me before the archangel. It . . . went well enough, I suppose, given that Raphael apparently believes I was raised by Lucifer, rather than God."

He’s so shocked it takes a while to realize he’s staring, mouth open, and, when he tries to shut it, surprises himself by laughing, instead. "You’re kidding, right? The Devil, raise an angel? Do archangels do drugs, by any chance?"

Castiel’s head is tilted slightly, as though in puzzlement, but his voice is calm and steady when he replies, "Not that I am aware of, no. I suppose he may not have been sincere in that profession of belief. Dean seems to believe that the angels don’t know where our Father is because they’ve never bothered to search for Him properly. He says that as long as I believe, I should continue searching for God. I cannot believe that my brother would have the power to resurrect me, thus, and I believe that our Father is out there, somewhere, and so I will do as Dean bade and continue my search."

"You think he’ll keep helping you?"

"I hope that he will. I know that he wishes to continue hunting as much as possible, though. It pains him, to think that others are suffering when he could do something to help them," Castiel replies, shoulders slumping and eyes dropping to the floor, though his voice wavers only a little to betray how much it hurts _him_ , that Dean’s sense of helplessness and guilt should weigh him down so.

Sam starts to speak, stops, licks his lips nervously (and _God_ , he hates that he’s so weak, he _hates_ that he’s so damned afraid of what he might be told that he wants so badly not to even ask the question, even though he knows he has to, knows he probably should’ve already), and then starts over, all too aware of the pulse hammering away (still far too quickly) in his chest. "Do you . . . do you think he might welcome some help?"

Castiel’s head snaps up so quickly Sam almost startles enough to fall back a step. The blaze of hope in the angel’s eyes makes him want to squint, as though he were looking up at the sun, and that prickly feeling of too much moisture returns to make his eyes burn and itch (because dammit, he did this, he got the angel’s hopes up, and God, _God_ , he doesn’t want to let him down, but he doesn’t know if he can do this, doesn’t know if Dean will let him, and what’s he supposed to do, if Dean says no?) so much that he blinks and then blinks again, and finally just gives up and narrows his eyes. "Do you wish to return to your brother’s side now, Sam?"

"I – I think I need to. That I have to. I can’t – I can’t do this by myself, Cas. Not even with your help. I need Dean. I just – I don’t know how to convince him of that. He doesn’t want me with him anymore and I know it’s because he’s afraid I’m going to hurt him again, and I am too – it’s why I left in the first place! – but I don’t know what else to do. I know you think I’m strong, but Cas, I really don’t think I’m _that_ strong. I don’t think I can do this – keep refusing Lucifer – without Dean’s help. I – I just – I - "

Castiel nods, effectively silencing him. "He is your brother. You have leaned on him your whole life for comfort and strength. It is the way of kin. I understand. You are far stronger together than you ever could be apart. I have been hoping that you would see this and act upon it by returning to Dean’s side, to stand with him and to guard his back. It will ease a weight of worry from him, to know where you are and that you are safe because you are with him."

Quickly – because if he stops to think, if he even stops to breathe, he’s not sure if he’ll be able to get the words out – Sam admits, "I’m tired of doing nothing but worrying. And I don’t want to be alone for this. But I don’t know how to ask him to let me come back."

The hand returns to his shoulder, and Sam’s breath is so loud and ragged with relief that Castiel grips him probably a little bit tighter than he’d intended to, fingers closing around the joint harder than was comfortable. "Tell him that you need him. Tell him what Lucifer said to you. Admit that you are stronger when you are with him," he advises.

"I – I don’t know if I can. If Dean knows I’m Lucifer’s vessel – "

"Sam. Dean could act as Lucifer’s vessel as well. Jimmy could have been his vessel, at least for a brief amount of time. Any of the blood of the Nephilim still walking the Earth and strong enough to contain an angel’s Grace could act as my brother’s vessel, could he but win consent from them. He has chosen you only because of what Azazel and Ruby and the demon blood did to alter your body. It has nothing to do with you personally. You were the one of those Azazel chose to force his blood upon who survived long enough to see Lucifer freed from his prison and return to walk the Earth. That is why he wants you. You need not be ashamed of that," Castiel replies, voice urgent, earnest, all but painfully sincere.

"But _I’m_ the one who let him out in the first place. I’m the one who – "

Castiel immediately starts to shake his head. "It would not have happened, without the interference of the Hosts of Heaven. Sam, I was ordered to open the door to Bobby Singer’s panic room. If you had not been able to leave that place – "

Voice rising to an almost hysterical pitch, Sam tries to insist, "But _I_ chose to leave. _I_ chose to go through Bobby, so I could leave. _I_ chose Ruby and revenge over Dean. _I_ chose to attack Lilith. _I_ chose – "

Castiel’s hand on his shoulder tightens another painful increment as he interrupts – the flash of pain (though relatively slight) silencing Sam as no amount of shouting or arguing could have, the deliberateness of the motion grabbing his attention effortlessly – declaring, "Yes, Sam, you chose. But you chose not knowing what would happen, believing that you were doing right, that ridding the world of Lilith would ensure the safety of the Seals and Lucifer’s continued containment in Hell and bring about a world in which the demon who held your brother’s contract no longer existed, in which your brother would no longer be under any obligation to Hell, through your actions. You chose, thinking you were saving both your brother and the world. You chose only because you were deceived by those who should have been your allies. And for that I am sorry, and ashamed on behalf of myself and my brethren."

"Cas, it’s not that simple – "

Firmly, implacably, Castiel insists, "It is _very_ simple, Sam. The Hosts of Heaven are no longer what we once were. Those of us who have not departed the path of righteousness by way of our blind obedience to orders from superiors whose fearfulness and anger have led them into doubt and disobedience to God’s will and plan will doubtlessly do so in the days to come, unless we can bring them word of those who actively conspired to bring about Armageddon, when it did not have to happen, solely because they desired war and an end to the struggle with evil. It is not blame that falls on you for what they have caused to come into being, Sam. You were used by those far stronger than you – those who should have been fighting for you, for humanity, and not for a war that Hell has long been only too eager to bring about. You permitted yourself to be used, perhaps, but your decisions were made out of ignorance, not willful disobedience. Your brother has already forgiven you. The battles to come will be far easier if you could but learn to forgive yourself."

Castiel’s eyes are so pleading and filled with sorrow and hope that Sam can barely stand to look at him. Trying desperately to look away, he brokenly protests, "I – I don’t – I’m not – "

"Sam. Little brother. _Please try_. For Dean’s sake, and for mine, if not for your own."

"But – "

"Sam." Sam’s mouth stops moving, falling slackly open with shock, because somehow or another Castiel has managed to sound like both Dean (at his most impatient and fiercely protective) and their dad (at his most impatient and resignedly loving), all at once, and not responding to that would be tantamount to failing to recognize _Mom_ when she appeared before him. "Dean needs you, whether he wishes to admit it or not. And so I need you to be strong for him and ask to return to his side. _Please_."

Oh, not fair!

Sam has to bite his tongue to keep from protesting, knowing that (however true the complaint might be) it’s childishness is uncalled for (even if the angel is deliberately invoking the one thing that he must know Sam will be unable to turn away from: his brother). He has to take several long, ragged (but increasingly deep) breaths to keep from doing or saying something painfully childish or hideously telling as to just how weak he is, but after several long moments he finally manages to whisper, "Alright. I – alright. I’ll try. I’ll call him. I’ll ask. I’ll even tell him about Lucifer, if he gives me a chance. But Cas . . . you shouldn’t hope for too much. This is – Dean’s not infallible, either. And I hurt him. A lot. He may not give me the chance. He may tell me no."

"Even if he refuses you, he will not mean it. Ask him again. And keep asking, Sam. You are his brother. He loves you. He’s already forgiven you, even if he’s not yet begun to forgive himself. He won’t say no to you forever. But he may require . . . persuading as to your sincerity," Castiel replies, voice grave as he delivers the warning.

A small semi-hysterical giggle escapes before he manages to clamp his teeth together tightly enough to keep silent. It takes another dozen long, deep breaths, but Sam finally manages to pull himself together enough to dryly ask, "You don’t think I’m stubborn enough to match his pigheadedness? Dude. He _is_ my brother."

It earns him a small sliver of that blindingly brilliant smile (the one he can still see, still _feel_ , vibrating in his bones and soothing his mind, his heart, like balm, like forgiveness and peace, whenever he closes his eyes and concentrates), and the warmth that generates gives him the strength to stop wanting to either hyperventilate or howl (either with hysterical laughter or screaming sobs, either would work, about now) and straighten up and square his shoulders resolutely. "I know you are. I have faith in you, Sam Winchester."

And _that_ – wow. Just. _Wow. That’s_ why he wants things to work out between Dean and Castiel, because that right there, that feeling of invincibility and undeniable worth, just from having the angel admit he has faith in Sam, is _exactly_ what Dean needs, what Dean _deserves_. And so, in spite of everything, he finds himself smiling – beaming madly – at the angel, feeling lighter and better than he has in ages (well, besides that time when Castiel visited, before, and called him little brother and gave him that smile that felt like pure forgiveness, like _grace_. No, like _Grace_ ). "And I have faith in you. You’re a good soul, Castiel. I don’t care what those other angels think or say. You’re worth all of them put together and more. That they can’t see it . . . well, it’s their loss and our gain, the way I look at it. Thank you, Cas. If anyone can get my brother to see the truth, it’ll be you. Don’t give up on him. Please. Don’t ever give up on him. We’ll get through this, if we stick together and refuse to give up. We’ll find your Father and put things right, if it’s the last thing we do. I promise. We’ll put this right again."

Castiel inclines his head in acknowledgment of the promise. "I know you and Dean will, Sam. I believe in you both. But you need your rest, now. I will return when I can, little brother. For now, sleep. Sleep deeply, and without dreams, and know that you are warded against those who would do you harm, and that the knowledge you need to keep my brother from entering your dreams again will be waiting for you, when you awaken."

The gentle touch to his forehead reminds him of the touch of his mother, and Sam is still smiling when he awakens, hours later, to discover he’s slept an entire day away and that it’s dark again outside his motel windows.

He is not smiling, though, when Castiel returns to him, only a few short hours later.

"I don’t understand. What the hell happened to make Dean change his mind so quickly? Did you do something? He sounded – "

"Zachariah found him through a network of human spies. I have not yet been told much, but it is my understanding that the experience was torturous nearly on the same level as Hell. My brother must be desperate. He’s resorted to tactics of a sort that even a Trickster would eschew."

"There’s not a whole lot that a Trickster won’t dare to do, Cas."

"I know."

It’s the serious steadiness of the angel’s gaze that makes him realize what Castiel’s trying to tell him, without actually naming his suspicions. "Mother _fucker_! How bad?"

"Bad enough that he repeated to me numerous times that I should never change."

That urge to hit his head repeatedly against the nearest solid surface instantly rises up in him again. "But he likes it that you’re becoming more human in your mannerisms! He worries about you, because you’re so . . . other, you know? The more human you can seem, the safer you are out there, in the world, and the less he has to worry about you."

"I know. He has taken great pleasure in introducing me to various aspects of day-to-day human life. It is why I am . . . concerned."

Wishing he didn’t have to (he really doesn’t want to know the answer), Sam asks, with more than a little trepidation, "Has he said anything specific about what happened?"

"Only that Zachariah found him through a Jehovah’s Witness and that we therefore needed to be more careful to remain unseen, and that he believes what Zachariah did to him was similar to what a Trickster sometimes does when playing a game with a victim he wishes to elicit a particular response from. He was most eager to speak to you and to make sure that you would rejoin him. I suspect that my former superior may have constructed a worst-case scenario for a possible future, if Lucifer remains unchallenged by Michael, and placed Dean in the midst of it," Castiel replies, face and voice equally grim.

"Well, hell. No wonder he’s upset! If I’m supposed to be Lucifer’s vessel – "

"Sam, unless you consent – "

Sam waves a hand impatiently. "Look, I know, I know, okay? But it doesn’t matter what you believe or what I think, does it? It matters what that prick Zachariah believes. And as far as he’s concerned, I’m pretty much the Antichrist, right?"

Castiel hesitates a moment before allowing, "He does not care for you, no."

"So Lucifer was probably in me, in this worst possible future of his. And since Dean’s been worried about corrupting you since even before you got barred from Heaven for his sake, you were probably . . . " Sam hesitates a moment, searching for a way to frame his suspicions that won’t come off as insulting, finally settling on gently noting, "well, you probably weren’t yourself anymore, which is why he’s so adamant that you not change, now. And if you weren’t yourself and I was Lucifer’s vessel, odds are that Dean didn’t have anybody he trusted or could rely on, and that means he was probably a hard, paranoid sonuvabitch. Hell! Did he say anything to you about the other him?"

"No. But thoughts of Hell were very close to the surface of his mind. I could read it, in his eyes. I fear the other him may have resorted to torture, to gain answers he could trust. That is the one thing Dean cannot seem to forgive himself for doing," Castiel replies, his expression grave (eyes dark with pain and worry), voice mournful.

"Sonuva _bitch_!" Sam snarls, hands doubling over into fists.

"Yes. I am . . . not well pleased with Zachariah, myself."

Sam returns the angel’s frankly unhappy gaze with narrowed eyes. Slowly, not sure if it’s the right moment to broach the subject or not but too angry to really care enough to keep his silence, he ventures, "Cas, I hate to be blunt about this, but if that bastard doesn’t back off soon, we’re going to have to do something about him. Something _permanent_. There are ways for humans to kill angels, aren’t there?"

"There are . . . ways. But I would prefer it if neither of you had to carry that burden upon your souls. If it becomes necessary, I can do it," Castiel insists, voice hitching slightly, betraying his anxiety, his suffering.

Sam sighs. Awkwardly, recognizing the pain in Castiel’s eyes, he tells him, "I appreciate the sentiment, Cas, really, I do, but I’d prefer it if I knew how to protect myself and Dean, in case I need to act and you aren’t around to help."

"Sam – little brother – I would prefer it if you never had to strike an angel."

"Believe me, Cas, I would prefer that, too. Hell, I’d prefer it if they’d all wise up and start fighting with us, instead of against us." Sam half laughs and then sighs, scrubbing a hand across his face and back through his hair. "But I need to be realistic about this. Odds are this is going to get uglier before it gets any better – if it ever does get any better. I promise I won’t go out looking for trouble, okay? But I _need_ to know how to defend myself and my brother from those bastards. I need to know that I can stop one of them, if I have to. I know you plan on protecting us from them and I know you don’t want us to have to carry the weight of knowing we’ve killed angels, but Cas, it’s not right for you to have to shoulder the whole burden. And what if we need to be able to rescue you from them? You know we could never let them have you. We need to be able to protect you from them, too," he argues, stubbornly holding Castiel’s gaze and pleading earnestly with his eyes.

After a few moments, Castiel exhales, all but sighing, shoulder slumping ever so slightly. "Will you promise only to use this knowledge as a last resort?"

"Unless I have to, I absolutely will not use it at all. I won’t write it down or share it or even speak of it, unless it’s absolutely necessary, alright? I don’t want anyone getting any ideas and trying to use the knowledge against _you_ ," Sam promises.

Castiel’s voice is obviously tired, obviously pained (sorrowful and regretful), as he acquiesces. "Very well. As you wish. There are . . . ways to build weapons that can be used against angels, even by humans. The process is somewhat time-consuming, but the results are most effective. I will place the knowledge in your mind, when I leave you to sleep. There are some items that you will need from me, if you still wish to go through with the process. Please take a day or two to think the matter through, first. Afterwards, you may ask me for what you require, if you still believe you need it."

"I will. I’ll even talk it over with Dean, first, if you think I should," Sam offers, moved by the angel’s obvious reluctance.

"I would prefer that, yes. I do not believe he would want you to carry the burden alone, should you decide to go through with the procedure. And he will also want to be able to defend you against Zachariah and the others working with him," Castiel replies, a thread of gratefulness lightening his otherwise dark gaze.

Sam nods. "Okay, then. I’ll do that. And I’ll try to get him to tell me about what happened, with Zachariah, alright? It’s not good for him to keep shit like that bottled up. If he won’t tell me, will you do me a favor and try asking him again?"

Castiel inclines his head in agreement. "I will do so, yes."

"Okay. Good. So is there anything else we need to talk about or plan for?"

Hesitantly, Castiel inquires, "Do you wish to speak more of your dreams, Sam? It cannot be good for you to, as you say, keep it all bottled up. My brother has a way with words. He always has. It would be best that you not take anything he says to heart."

Sam stares at him, mind absolutely blank. "Uh, that’s alright. It’s kinda personal, Cas. He came to me – well, he came as my dead girlfriend, Jess, at least at first. It’s not – I don’t even want to think about it, much less talk about it."

Castiel’s gaze is calm, steady, and his voice patient and immovable as he declares, "Sam, you shouldn’t believe anything he tells you. He is the Father of Lies."

Sam half shrugs and half nods (or at least ducks his head down in a gesture that sort of resembles a nod). "I know. Really, I do. I promise not to take what he said to heart. I know he was just saying those things to hurt me, to try to find a way to get at me and weaken me, so I’d say yes to him. You don’t have to worry. I won’t give in. I promise. I’ll even tell Dean what I can, okay? It’ll do more harm to try to hide any of it than to just tell him, if you’re right about what Zachariah did. He probably already knows Lucifer wants me as his vessel," he adds, forcing himself to blow his breath out in tired exasperation instead of laughing hysterically (or starting to cry). "He’ll needs to know your brother likes to visit people as lost loved ones, too. Dean doesn’t need any more nasty surprises."

"I agree. Thank you, Sam."

"Not a problem. Uhm, Cas?"

"Yes?"

Hesitantly, a little awkwardly, he asks, "Do you think . . . is this going to mess you and Dean up? You were making some progress, before, and now, if you’re right about what Zachariah did, he’s freaking out even more about ‘corrupting’ you."

"It . . . depends on whether or not I can convince him that Zachariah was lying to him and that the experience was essentially a variant on a Trickster’s dream. He must tell me of what happened, first. I will do what I can to encourage him, of course, but . . . " Cas trails off, head inclining forward in a manner that somehow conveys the sense of a helpless shrug.

"I was afraid of that. Do you think it’d help if I brought it up, too? I’m gonna get him to talk to me about this, one way or another. And the whole Trickster thing . . . well, I’ve got some experience with those so-called _dreams_ of theirs, and he knows it," Sam explains, voice grim with the memory of that stretch of false time spent without Dean, after being forced to watch him die in seemingly every way possible over and over and over again, that damnable Tuesday repeating on an endless bloody loop while Sam slowly went insane with grief and rage.

Castiel frowns (the look in his eye more one concern than confusion or puzzlement), head tilting slightly, before finally, slowly, allowing, "If you truly believe it will be of help. I would not wish for you to drag up painful memories, Sam. I know of what that Trickster put you through. You and Dean. I would have stopped it, if I could."

That gives Sam momentary pause. "Exactly how long have you been keeping an eye on us, Cas?" he asks, eyes narrowing.

The head-tilt becomes even more pronounced. "Technically, since before either one of you were born – since your parents were merely courting. Why do you ask?"

Not sure whether he’s more amused or vaguely creeped out, he replies by asking, "I thought Dean always said you told him you weren’t here to perch on our shoulders?"

Castiel’s head moves in that way that somehow seems to connote a shrug. "Do you believe your brother would have reacted well, if I had told him that I have been watching over him since before his birth?"

Sam snorts, shaking his head. "Put that way, no. But you might want to come clean about that sometime. Knowing our luck, he’ll notice you know more than you should and be freaked out by it, if you don’t."

"I will take that into consideration. Though perhaps the conversation should wait until after we are certain Dean believes that what he experienced because of Zachariah was in no way truthful." It’s not quite a question, but Castiel raises his eyebrows in a questioning manner, and Sam finds himself smiling at him, a little sheepishly.

"Probably. And maybe you should give him a little while to get used to the idea Lucifer wants me as his vessel, too. All those shocks at once might not be a good idea."

"Precisely."

"Okay. So you try to get him to talk to you about Zachariah and, if that doesn’t work, I’ll give it a try after I’ve gotten to him. And I’ll tell him about Lucifer, so he’ll know he should probably start warding his dreams, too. I guess you’ve been ‘encouraging’ him to sleep, to keep him safe?" Sam asks, lips twitching slightly from the urge to grin.

Castiel’s shoulders actually move slightly, though the motion is back and forth rather than up and down. "I had to be sure that he would sleep without nightmares. He would not have permitted me to help him, if I had asked. He resented my help, when the nightmares of Hell became too bad for him to continue to bear silently."

Sam shrugs back at him, grinning slightly, wryly. "Probably the smartest thing you could’ve done. Pushing too hard for him to let you help would only make him shove you away as hard as he possibly could. But when you get back to him, you might want to offer to show him the ward to keep your dreams safe. You don’t have to mention me. Just . . . say it’s to keep him safe, in case Zachariah or Raphael or one of those other stooges tries any funny business, or something."

"I will do that. He is upset enough by the notion Zachariah could get to him that I do not believe he will ask many questions." Castiel pauses, frowning slightly, as though trying to decide whether or not it would be wise to speak of something else, before finally adding, "The methods Zachariah has chosen to use puts us in danger. I may have to suggest certain . . . preventative measures that Dean will likely not approve of taking."

Sam frowns, more out of curiosity than concern. "What kind of measures?"

"Ward-based glamours, so that you and your brother will not appear as yourselves to those who may be watching for you. Such precautions have limitations – they will not fool electronic recording devices – but they should prove useful against humans recruited to simply watch for you," Castiel explains.

"Ah. You’re right. Dean won’t like it. He hates magic, Cas. _Hates_ it."

"Technically, the wards draw upon natural powers similar to an angel’s Grace. It is not magic, in the purest sense – not as a sorcerer or as a witch would use," Cas immediately replies.

Sam just grins at him. "Yeah. Good luck selling him on that. You might want to wait until after I’ve gotten a chance to talk to him. If it’s something I’ve argued for – something I’ve been wanting to research – he might be more likely to agree without raising too much of a fuss. I wouldn’t count on it. But he might cooperate a bit more."

Castiel actually _sighs_ (the all too human reaction making Sam’s twitch) this time, softly but distinctly. "As you say. Your brother is a very stubborn man, Sam."

"Both of us are. It’s probably that convergence of Nephilim lines you were talking about, earlier. Both sides of the family are strong, stubborn s.o.b.s, or else they wouldn’t’ve survived long enough to produce us," Sam replies, shrugging and grinning apologetically.

That theory prompts another sigh from Castiel, this one softer, but no less distinct. "You are likely correct. However, it does not do those of us who are attempting to work around that stubbornness much good."

Sam’s smile takes on a sympathetic edge. "Just learn to plan for it. That’s the best advice I can give you. Expect him to be stubborn to the point of stupidity or even insanity – maybe even beyond – and that way you’ll be able to work around it, instead of breaking your head trying to bust your way through it. That’s what I do. And it seems to work . . . most of the time, anyway."

Castiel inclines his head so deeply that the motion almost seems like a bow. "The advice is most welcome. You have been with him the longest. And I confess that my frustration and desire to help and protect him often cloud my judgment."

Greatly daring, Sam reaches out and places his hand on Castiel’s right shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. "It’ll get better, Cas. I promise. Stick with it, and it’ll get better. He already relies on you more than he has anyone else who wasn’t family or Bobby. Give him a little bit longer to get used to the idea that he can, and he’ll stop fighting you so hard on every little thing."

The angel’s eyes are huge as he looks from the hand to Sam’s face and back again. The smile, when it breaks, is all but blinding, like the sun emerging from behind a heavy bank of clouds. "Yes. I will do as you advise, Sam, and look forward to that day."

"Good. You going back to Dean tonight?"

"I will watch over him, while he sleeps, yes."

"Good. Keep him safe for me, will ya?"

Castiel inclines his head again, his hand rising to touch the hand on his shoulder, squeezing it in promise. "Of course."

Sam squeezes back, and then pats the angel’s shoulder. "Good night, Cas. Get some rest yourself, if you can, alright?" 

"I do not require sleep. It is . . . restful, to watch your brother."

Sam shrugs. "If it’s enough for you, then alright. But be careful, okay?"

"I will. I promise. Sleep well, Sam. Sleep deeply, and without dreams."

The touch to his forehead is so soft he barely feels it, and he slips into darkness with his heart and mind far lighter than they have been since Lucifer first came to trouble him sleep.

He’s going to Dean, and Cas will watch over him until he can get there.

With the three of them working together, maybe – just _maybe_ – they can figure out a way to _win_ this thing, instead of stumbling around blindly, in the dark.

Maybe he’s a fool, but Sam likes the odds better already.

*********

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

**Author's Note:**

>  **Author’s Notes: 4).** _(Continued as promised!)_ I know I am repeating myself here, but I honestly feel that I cannot stress the fact enough that I cannot even begin to try to seriously argue the point that Castiel is devoted to Dean (perhaps far too much so). That Castiel . . . feels something for Dean that he should not (according to his angelic comrades-in-arms and superiors) – something that is, at the very least, highly irregular for an angel to experience towards a mere human – is also glaringly obvious, especially given the outcome of the season four finale. That Dean cannot grasp/comprehend the depth of Castiel’s attachment to him, doesn’t understand such a level of devotion to himself (seeing as how he has no faith in himself and still cannot even begin to believe that he deserved to be saved, is worthy of salvation, of being raised from Hell, much less capable of stopping the end of days) or even seem to have an inkling that there are ramifications to the fact that Castiel, as an angel of the Lord, is essentially _built_ for faith and devotion and following and _has willingly chosen to follow Dean_ , and is also apparently blindly oblivious to the fact that Castiel’s feelings for him have increasingly seemed to have little to do with the fact that Dean is the only one who can stop the Apocalypse and Castiel has been ordered to protect him, so that he will eventually be able to do as has been prophesied and defeat Lucifer, has also seemed pretty damn patently obvious, to me. 
> 
> Or at least so it seemed until lately, when I began to get a feeling that there just might be more going on underneath the surface of Dean and Castiel’s . . . relationship (for lack of a better word) than was immediately obvious and to suspect that Kripke et al might deliberately be using the connection between Dean and Castiel – the choice Castiel made, in Dean’s favor, and the reasons why, and the possibility that Dean might one day choose Castiel (and, by extension, his God) back, willingly, for reasons of his own – to enrich the show’s already hugely complex background and mythology. 
> 
> After viewing the first episode of season five and promptly finding myself compelled to write out my first _Supernatural_ fanfic (and finding, much to my surprise, that I kept instinctively identifying it as Dean/Castiel preslash), reflecting on my own confoundment at having written such a thing, and then viewing the second episode of the new season, I found myself quite suddenly having to sit down and seriously contemplate the possibility that Dean/Castiel (of some form or another) could end up being the penultimate ship of the show . . . and that this probability would likely end up having a direct and profound impact on the ultimate outcome of the show, especially regarding the possibility that another way might be found to defeat Lucifer and avert the destruction of the Earth, so that Dean won’t be forced to give in to the faction of angels that, so far, has largely been represented by such amoral individuals as Zachariah and Raphael. 
> 
> Because of this, the Dean/Castiel ship – or at least some version of it – is rapidly becoming a lot more important to me. I’m honestly not sure, yet, if I’m seeing things that are really there or not or what the hell I’m really doing, floundering about in this fandom, grasping at possible ways to smooth a path between Castiel and Dean. (I feel kind of like I’m stumbling around in the dark with an armful of nitroglycerin, which is more than a little disturbing.) 
> 
> The whole thing still kind of freaks me out – there are consent issues here that are just . . . freakin’ **_insane_** , to be perfectly honest! Plus, since I’m honestly not sure what I’m doing here with these stories, I really feel as if I should point out that, though this specific story (like the one preceding it) is canon-compliant up through the fourth episode of season five (at least to a point, inasmuch as it follows the events of the show), the between-the-scenes nature of the story means that it can, technically, also be read as AU. Besides which, I also have a strong suspicion that this story won’t precisely remain all that canon-compliant once the next episode has come out. So . . . readers might want to take this with a grain of salt. (In fact, freakin’ huge handfuls of salt might not be entirely out of line.) Okay?


End file.
